Cobblers: Did you know the Crewe Street Cobbler?

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Cobbler William Farnsworth, known affectionately as Bill

Bill and Fanny sitting on the steps of their beach hut at Mablethorpe in the 1930s

Bill Farnsworth with his three sons – Francis, the eldest, Leslie and baby Dennis in 1930-31

IF you happened to own a pair of “proper football boots” in the 1930s to 50s and needed the “cogs” replacing, or perhaps wanted a sole and heel job, and if you also lived in the Normanton area of Derby, the chances are you knew the cobbler who had a shop at the corner of Crewe Street and Middleton Street – just a few strides from St James’ Road School.

The old cobbler was my father, William Farnsworth, affectionately known as Bill to all. He was born in 1898 and died in 1985.

Dad had an exceptionally hard life as a child, losing both his parents while he was small and being passed around to live with all sorts of so-called “aunts and uncles”, who didn’t really want him.

His old grandad, whom he adored, passed on and, in his will, left him the princely sum of £100 which, in those times – 1902 – was practically a king’s ransom.

His “aunts and uncles” soon made sure that little Billy was relieved of his legacy and, within a matter of months, none was left.

Dad was, in fact, a cripple. From the age of four he had an undeveloped foot caused by poliomyelitis. He was unable to walk very far without his cherished walking stick.

His early working life consisted of standing all day in jobs he was unsuited to, to keep his head above water and pay rent to his landlady. I believe he spent some time at Aiton’s and, on leaving there, went to a firm called Clemson’s who manufactured cardboard boxes, I think, in Spa Lane.

After leaving there, aged 22, he landed a job at the Co-op Boot & Shoe Company. I don’t know where it was, possibly on Osmaston Park Road.

It was the first place he felt at home and, after marrying in 1919, he took over a lock-up cobbler’s shop at 69 Crewe Street between Upperdale Road and Pear Tree Road.

Living away from the premises was not ideal. When, after a few years, the people renting the living quarters of the house told him that they were leaving, Dad biked straight down to the Oddfellows in Green Lane and told them about the pending vacancy, saying he wanted to live there on a permanent basis.

He did just that and lived there, along with mother, until 1962, when health reasons forced him to retire at the age of 64.

Bill and Fanny Farnsworth had three sons – Francis Albert, born in 1921, Leslie who arrived in 1927 and myself, Dennis, 1930.

Francis was delivered by a local midwife at the White Gates Cottage on Stenson Road, facing the Blue Pool Hotel, with the aid of a hurricane lantern and lighted candles held by my mother and sister. The cottage had no electricity until much later.

Leslie was born in Haddon Street and I arrived above the shop in Crewe Street.

When Dad opened up his shop in 1922, during the Depression years. Money was tight and I have often wondered how he had the courage to “go it alone” at that time, particularly as he needed capital to buy machinery. He, no doubt, bought things “on tick”, “signing on the dotted line .

If he had a full week’s shoe-repairing, he must have considered himself very lucky. I know that many pairs of repaired shoes were never collected because people did not have the cash to pay for them.

He couldn’t sell the shoes because he had issued a collection ticket and they could have been reclaimed months or even years afterwards, so he was stuck with them.

Dad was most obliging to all people that he met and if a customer was in a bit of a dash for a repair job, he was always there to help out.

In later years, I recall he had quite a stream of doctors who used to bring him work. But even though they were customers, the medicine was still half-a-crown a bottle if they doctor had to come out to us.

For several years, during the Second World War, Dad was elected treasurer of the Derby Boot Trades Association, a position he held for several years. My mother did not relish the meetings because they were usually held at our house and, apart from a houseful of Woodbine smoke, some eight or 10 of them had to be given supper as well. His “appointment” was honorary, of course!

In the late 1930s to the 1950s, there were possibly 30 or more boot repair shops throughout the town and, prior to his passing on, Dad wrote me a list of all the men in the trade whom he had employed at one time or another when they had no work.

Looking back, I suppose that his “odd helpers out” were happy to be paid enough for a packet of fags and a pint. That was the sort of bloke he was. If he could help anyone out less fortunate than himself, he would, during those lean years.

He never made any real money, just enough to get by and feed the five of us which he always did. They were worrying years for families and I well recall his dread of snowy weather when people turned to wearing “wellies” or “galoshes” rather than leather-soled shoes. Some winters, the snow never seemed to go away.

His love for children was well-known by the kids and their mums. Children would love to pop in his shop on their way home from school. He would leave whatever he was doing to entertain them with simple conjuring tricks on the shop counter.

I have been reminded by countless people over the years of the fun and kindness he showed them and how, as youngsters, they adored his simple entertainment.

Dad may have had walking difficulties, but he could still ride a bike. During the war, he decided to buy a tandem, so that both Mum and himself could go out together. In the 1950s, he lashed out and bought a “mini-motor” which was a motorised attachment for the bike’s rear wheel. It was rather crude method of propelling oneself along by today’s standards but, in those years, oh boy, you had arrived.

The design was exceedingly heavy on the wear of the rear tyre and I recall having to help him replace a tyre one evening after they had travelled to Matlock and back the day before.

Incapacitated as he was, he loved trips out, preferably by train. Skegness or Mablethorpe was normally on the agenda and for a few years, before the war, we had a week in Mablethorpe.

Of course a beach hut was an essential so that Mum and Dad could “mash” regularly. I think the rent for the week was about 15 shillings (75p). What a shame he didn’t buy a string of them at that time; they now fetch a small fortune.

One story he told me, when I was a little lad, was that during the First World War, along with hundreds of others at that time, he was a little shamed at not offering himself for military duties so he went to Normanton Barracks to enlist.

Older people will remember that if young men were seen on the streets not in uniform, in those days, they were often subject to shouts of abuse, especially from women whose men had already gone to help the war effort. Such remarks as: “Get in khaki” were commonplace. So, despite his disability, off Dad went.

As he stood in the queue waiting his turn to enlist, the recruitment sergeant took one look at his foot and announced in “Army language” that he would be of little or no use to them and he had better go home. I think Dad was thanked for the thought.

I suppose that wretched foot probably saved his life, although we shall never know.

Dad always enjoyed a cigarette and a pint, usually at the Cavendish Hotel during the war, or latterly in the Cambridge Hotel, now defunct.

He also enjoyed a spot of angling, although he was never an Izaak Walton. It was a cheap form of entertainment then and it took both Mum amd Dad into the fresh air, as well as Les and I on our bikes.

The venue was usually Twyford Ferry or Swarkestone Bubble; or other places up the canal from Stenson Lock or Findern, all most enjoyable to us young boys.

Canal licences were 1/6d (7.5p) and a rod licence about two bob. I seem to remember that maggots were 4d a pint.

He was always interested in the Rams and I have known him to refuse his Saturday afternoon lunch in case he missed the kick-off. The delay was usually attributable to his being late shutting the shop on his half-day closing. He never had to stand as the “disabled corner” was a freeman’s and he was allocated a seat as well.

I think that he met my mother around 1918. They married on Christmas Day, 1919. They had no honeymoon. It was straight back to work after Christmas.

Francis joined the RAF just three days before war was declared on September 3, 1939. He spent a lot of time in Canada, after being sent there on the Empire Training Scheme during the war. He married a Canadian girl and they had one daughter after his return to the UK. All three emigrated to Canada in 1946. He lived there until he died in January 1999.

Leslie died in 1977 following a tragic motor accident caused by an out-of-control lorry. He was only 49. My mother died in 1988, three years after my father’s death in 1985.

My brothers and I had a very happy childhood – something Dad was deprived of. I can only think that he intended us to have the happiness that never came his way in his infancy.

I hope that there are some readers who do remember William Farnsworth and I would like to think that there are some that remember me, Dennis. I attended St James’ Road School and finished up at Clarence Road School from 1940-1944.

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